What mattered was this, and right then I would have given anything to really taste Matthew, for him to come in my mouth. I thought of platitudes, and discarded them, and eased my fingers between Matthew’s thighs, into the creases and grooves of his body. Over the acrid latex, I could smell him so clearly, his sweat thick and cloudy, and slick under my fingers.
He spread his legs, more than enough invitation for me, so I grabbed examination gloves from the box on my desk. They weren’t as good as sterile gloves, but I wasn’t planning on leaving the office to hunt some down. I cupped his balls, toyed with his raphe briefly, just a brush of a finger, then pressed fingertips against his ass.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Cecelia next door was singing ‘Killing Me Softly,’ and it occurred to me that Fox and Gimbel would probably kill her, and not very softly, for what she was doing to their precious song.
I wasn’t going to push my fingers inside Matthew, not without lube, and when I lifted my mouth from his cock he was holding the lube ready for me.
Fuck, he was so beautiful, lips parted, tip of his tongue showing, and I kept my eyes on his face while I pushed two fingers slowly inside him.
You think I’d be over the wonder of this, considering it was pretty much what I did professionally, but Matthew whimpered and pouted and kissed me, and I could have spent all day on that desk, finger-fucking him slowly until we both went insane, but we were under time constraints here, and the insanity needed to happen faster than that.
The feeling of the latex rolling down my cock was almost enough to make me scream, then Matthew smeared lube down the length of my cock.
“I’m ready,” he whispered, and he lay back across my desk Cecelia was murdering John Denver next door, proving herself remarkably sentimental for an oncologist. “…true yesterday la la tomorrow is open la la seems to la la just to be…” she sang, and I pushed slowly into Matthew, infinitesimally slowly, and then there was that moment where the head of my cock eased into him.
I groaned and held still, and Matthew’s eyes were closed and his mouth open, and he was breathing hard. I leaned forward, kissed his neck, whispered something, and began the slow sweet slide, deeper, until I was all the way in.
Matthew was trembling now, biting on the side of his hand, and I held still.
Cecelia sang, “…lost and la la on some…” and I was sure she had the order of the lyrics wrong. I thought briefly about buying her a book of lyrics for Christmas, but decided that might just encourage her. Perhaps I should buy her singing lessons?
Matthew whispered, “All right, you can move now,” and I stopped trying to distract myself.
I leaned forward, grabbed Matthew, pulled him a little closer to the edge of the desk, sending more stuff tumbling onto the utilitarian carpet tiles. We might have been better off on the floor, might have done less damage there, but it was a bit late to be thinking of that.
This had to be slow; anything faster would send the desk thudding into the wall of the office. Fuck, but it felt good to be buried inside someone, inside Matthew. I hadn’t done this for a long time and it felt delicious. Matthew was so tight and hot around me, and he was squirming on top of the slew of photocopies, keeping himself quiet with one hand, stroking his cock with the other.
I hitched my shirttails up a little higher, trying to keep them out of the lube, and concentrated on making each stroke as deep and as slow as my self-control would let me.
Matthew’s shirt had ridden up, leaving his belly exposed, and it was this more than anything that began to undo me.
I’d touched that skin, kissed that tattoo, come over it, slept with it pressed against my lower back … I took a deep breath, ran my fingers over the velvet skin and began to come, long slow waves that shook me, that made me clench my jaws tight to keep myself silent.
Cecelia had moved onto ABBA now, “…empty house la la tears la lala…” and I held onto the edge of the condom and pulled out slowly, then leaned forward and took Matthew’s cock into my mouth.
He moaned and clutched at my hair and I sucked him hard and he came almost instantly, thrashing around on the desk, causing more destruction, and I held onto his hips tightly, trying to still him.
He didn’t make too much noise, not like at the bar, and I stood up.
Oh, yeah, this was the unattractive, partly dressed man with a loaded condom dangling from his cock look. I dumped the condom and gloves into my rubbish bin and pulled my boxers and trousers up while Matthew struggled up to a sitting position.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “That was hot.”
I helped him to his feet and he wobbled unsteadily.
“Yeah,” I said, and I kissed him.
Two minutes later we left an office that looked like it had been vandalised, and I followed Matthew out past The Menopausal Monster and back to work.
Chapter Nineteen
Just fucked was not the right way to be when you’re being drilled on anesthetics in theatre so I made myself focus on propofol and sevoflurane and tried to remember not to lean against anything and contaminate it.
When I looked down, Nevins and Lin were holding hands behind their backs, acting innocent, and it was so sweet that I couldn’t help but smile.
“You!” the anesthetist said, pointing at me. “Tell me about why isoflurane has been phased out.”
That would serve me right for letting my attention wander, wouldn’t it?
“Isoflurane is pungent and can irritate the respiratory system, so is rarely used in Britain. But, in Third World countries, it’s still the inhaled anesthetic of choice because the patent on it has lapsed so it’s the most economical of the halogenated ethers.”
He moved his attention to Nevins and said, “Ether isn’t patented either. Why don’t we use ether?”
“Because it’s flammable,” Nevins said. “And that can’t be a good thing.”
The anesthetist chuckled. “It can’t, you’re right. Now, you’re going to be expected to handle a diathermy machine, too. Let’s move onto that.”
Dr. M wasn’t in the staff room we used for tutorials when we wandered in, and it was a relief to be able to sit down and hold a cup of coffee stolen from the ward pantry in my hands for a while. Lin was running over her schizophrenia presentation, Nevins had his nose buried in our anesthetics text, everyone else was chatting or eating snacks.
I had the printouts from the librarian with me, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I certainly couldn’t say anything intelligible about decubitus ulcers. It seemed pointless to waffle on about prevention since the hospital statistics indicated that almost all the patients with ulcers already had them when they arrived here.
Andrew pushed the door open and dropped his files and papers onto the desk. “Sorry I’m late, I was delayed in outpatients.”
He didn’t look at me at all but I felt my cheeks colouring a little anyway. He was late because he’d fucked me across his desk at lunchtime. On the pretext of collecting a book from him, which we had forgotten. Damn.
“Before we start presentations, I need to tell you all that I’ve been in touch with your course controller about your placements. I’m likely to be involved in industrial action in the near future, perhaps as soon as Monday. If I am, and the industrial action only involves one day of your placement, we’ll continue on the same as usual after that day. If the industrial action continues for longer than that, you’re to get in touch with your course controller and you’ll be reassigned to somewhere without Bolshie doctors.”
“Are you really going to strike?” Lin asked.
Dr. M shrugged. “Perhaps. We’ve got a stop work meeting at five. It’ll go to a vote then. Now, who’s first with today’s presentations?”